Artemis Fowl: The New Manhattan
by hopelily
Summary: Artemis Fowl and Holly Short have always managed to set aside differences in favor of a common goal. But when wounds run too deep and the enemy is all too personal, walls will crumble and the world will never be the same. Sequel to Collsion of the Worlds
1. Not Quite So Forgotten

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything except for what's mine and I assure you, even I don't quite know what that is. Artemis Fowl (c) Eoin Colfer, and the poems belong to Siegfried Sassoon and Yuri Suhl, respectively.

**Edit:** Sorry about the double alert. There's nothing new-- only I had to make some corrections. Sorry for the lack of update, but I have to go on vacation now and besides, there hasn't been a great reception to this story anyways so I doubt I'll be missed.

**Author's Note (PLEASE READ):** And voila, the story you've all been waiting for, the incredible, amazing, sequel to Collision of the Worlds. (And I was only a little late!) If you don't know what that is, please don't go away. I promise, it's not one of those must-read-the-prequel-type stories. Really, anyone with eyes and a brain can read it-- and I _really_ hope you all have that much at least...

Anyway, for people who haven't read Collision, all you need to know is the Holly and Artemis were together but as most of you probably realize, there are serious issues to that pairing. So because of mostly social and cultural reasons (cough...Council...cough), they're not together anymore. But don't worry if you're not an A/H shipper because there isn't a whole lot of romance in this anyways. I promise you won't be grossed out.

Also, this kind of deals with some historical issues so please, no one kill me if they happen to be offended. I did a bit of research but if I have my facts wrong, please do tell. I'd really appreciate it.

Last but certainly not least, a huge thank you to my beta, FirexAtxWill. You make my life so much easier.

So, that's about it, I think. Enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

August 1940

_Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back,_

_With dying eyes and lolling heads— those ashen grey_

_Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?_

_Have you forgotten yet?..._

_Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget._

_-_from "Aftermath" by Siegfried Sassoon

He had seen snow and hail galore, but never ash falling from the skies. One flake inadvertently caught upon his tongue as he lay feebly bleeding, trapped beneath the debris of the derelict flat, and he tasted it. It had the acrid bitterness of the heart of darkness in every man's heart, the sickening saccharine of a child's innocence lost, the metallic taste of the blood of the earth.

It must've been the fiery pits of hell that his mother claimed sinners were condemned to. But what had been his sin?

Perhaps he ought not to have lied to his mother about going to see the airbase across town, but how he had longed to catch a glimpse of the beautiful war planes that were depicted in his picture books. His dearest wish yesterday was to grow up to ride in the cockpit of one, proudly defending his country and his family against the evils of the world. And now he's seen the other side of war.

The sounds of children's cries, of women's screams, and of the groans of the dying melted into a single hum. But all he could do was to hold on to a single conscious thought within the quagmire— how disappointed his mother would be if he, her only son, the very reason she had insisted that the family flee to the relative safety of England, died futilely without having been a doctor or lawyer, without having lived the grandiose life she wished for him.

Now, it would never be.

_Ashes of body, of brain, of vision, of work_

_Ashes of genius and dreams_

_Ashes of God's master stroke— Man_

_-_from "The Permanent Delegate" by Yuri Suhl

Once, in his schoolbooks, he had read of a man who, trapped in a thunderstorm with his life at stake, prayed to the saints and promised his life in service to God, should he, by some miracle survive. Mother cursed Martin Luther for she was a devout Catholic, but the boy secretly liked the story. It was like making a wager with the Lord himself— how witty.

Perhaps he would promise his life to God if he survived this ordeal.

A slight whimper awakened him from his stupor. Seemingly from nowhere but a heat haze, a child emerged, sporting a pair of mechanical wings. She was as tiny as his baby sister, but could not have been younger than six years old by her willowy bone structure and the intensity in her hazel glare. And her eyes— he could never forget her eyes— honey-colored with the barest specks of jade and framed with tears.

She knelt at his side, and examined his wound with a maturity far beyond her years. For a mere moment, her long auburn locks shifted to reveal exquisite pointed ears— could he have imagined it?

She laid her hands upon his wound, and the most inexplicable blue sparks filled his body. Languor immediately caught him within its grasp but in his last scrapes of consciousness, he managed to catch another glance at the girl before she disappeared again. His last thought before waking up in a hospital ward weeks later was that he was sure he had seen something— or someone— supernatural.

His mother was sure that it had been an angel who'd descended from heaven to save him that day, but to him, she didn't seem like an angel. Angels were pallid and innocent and she was anything but; she did not hail from the cottony clouds above but emerged from midst the ravaging fires.

Mother would've liked him to be moved sufficiently to seek priesthood, but that day, he had chosen another path; He had dedicated his life to the girl with the pointed ears and wings.

From then on, one single word would linger upon his lips when he drifted into the seas of sleep: _fairies_.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Not Quite So Forgotten**

Present Day

In the best of days, locked within an airtight, hydraulically-sealed box glorified with the superb technology borne of paranoia thousands of miles below the surface of the earth is not a place where one wishes to be. In this instance, even LEP's famously mistrustful techie, Foaly, was not too thrilled to be on duty for another half an hour, especially when he could be at home with his fiancé of nine months.

Nine months, he had decided, was about the perfect length for a period of engagement. It was precisely enough for the giggles that lurked among the Recon jocks in the locker room to wear off and the disbelieving glances from Holly topped with quite a few witty remarks concerning matters that would be censored if printed to dissipate. And yet, it was not quite a long enough time for a certain lady centaur to regain her wits and realize that she is engaged to a…_geek_, to put it lightly.

The centaur sighed contently, relaxing in the dim light of the Operations Booth, thinking of Caballine as he did nearly every day these days, what with the wedding so close. In merely a week, they would be united in blissful matrimony, but yet Foaly still found it difficult to believe that it was actually happening. After all, not a many a female would go out with, let alone _marry_, a paranoid technological genius with an annoyingly sarcastic manner and unsightly burns on the hindquarters to boot.

With so much else to ponder, no wonder why he had been so distracted from work as of late. His only recent invention was quite extraordinary, as always; it was a tonic that utilized a particular genetic mutation that fairy possessed on the umpteenth chromosome that could, quite plausibly, allow Recon officers to temporarily inhabit humanoid bodies. The ears, of course, would have to be glossed over with prosthetics, but the height and figure issues would be accounted for. But despite how revolutionary his newest project may be, it was no good until he could find the time to organize a proper series of tests for it in order for the technology to be approved by the Council for LEP use.

A soft beep alerted him of a blip in his flawless security system. Foaly lazily ran his hands across the keyboard, and gave his beloved machines a once-over. It seemed that a small fairy fort just a few miles beneath the surface had been penetrated by a certain human device. Upon running a quick scan through his database, he identified it to be a mining drill belonging to a "clean" coal corporation by the name of Rasmussen Energy. Foaly snorted. If there was actually such a thing as _clean _coal, he would've discovered it centuries ago, and everyone knew that if Foaly wasn't aware of it, it simply didn't exist.

"Problems?" A disembodied voice intoned. Although it was not quite disembodied, but merely a fairy shielding, or in this case, specifically, Holly.

"Oh, hi, Holly," Foaly muttered. "And don't sneak up on me like that."

"Hey, you should be grateful," the LEP major warned, leaning against his desk. "I didn't tell the Recon jocks that you actually got a pedicure on that day you said you were going to the gym."

"I'm getting married. Shouldn't my hooves look just as dashing as my incredibly handsome face?" he whinnied in protest.

"Then that must be one terrible pedicure you got," Holly retorted, leaning down to regard the plasma screen. "So, what's up?"

"Ah, it's nothing," he answered. "Just some idiot human mining company looking for clean coal."

"Ah." No more needed to be said. After all, occasional intrusions belowground were a common occurrence nowadays when humans increasingly concerned with the effects of global warming. The sudden rise in hurricanes and droughts across the globe sent the once prosperous oil companies in search of a cleaner way to fuel their machines. How sad that they were too dim to perfect nuclear fusion.

Foaly quickly tapped a series of keys that shorted out the drill's sensors, keeping it from discovering the nearby fairy fort. To the owners of the drill, it would seem as if the looming object they'd witnessed only moments before had disappeared into thin air, or rather, thin dirt. "Piece of cake," he remarked. "The system _is_ fool-proof, after all."

"So fool-proof that it's been hijacked twice in the past dozen years?" Holly cocked her head. "And by the same person, too."

"Well, Opal's history, isn't she? So I won in the end," Foaly grinned smugly. He had reason to celebrate; just a few months ago, the only mastermind of this generation who had rivaled him had slipped into another coma, this time certainly not self-induced, but out of her own madness. And thus, she languished in a government facility for the mad, only alive because of the machines that powered her body just enough to allow the basic functions to operate. All the doctors agreed; it was only a matter of time before her body, along with her mind, would be gone altogether.

"Not without a few mishaps, of course."

"Of course."

Foaly glanced at his watch for about the fiftieth time this hour, and was pleased to find that it was just a minute away from five, when he went off duty. Ecstatic, he checked over his darling computers once more and prepared to leave.

"Incredible," Holly commented. "You're actually managing to tear yourself away from the Ops Booth on time."

The occasion wasn't nearly as much a miracle these days, though. Foaly was so besotted with his bride-to-be that he spent nearly every spare minute with her. Yes, the hotshots may taunt him, but even Holly had to secretly admit, it was sweet what they had and it surely kindled a slight flame in the hearts of even the most battle-hardened officers.

"Come on," Holly beckoned to him from the door. "I'm leaving, too."

"I thought Trouble wanted you to stay overtime today."

"Trouble can say whatever he likes, but the chances of me staying overtime to finish paperwork is about as likely Artemis Fowl donating his entire fortune to Amnesty International," Holly scoffed.

"He still likes you. You know it's because he wanted some _alone time_ with you," Foaly teased.

"Well, he isn't going to get it, is he?" Holly laughed as the pair stepped outside of Police Plaza. A gentle breeze swept the early evening air, lifting her auburn curls off her shoulders. To any with eyes, it was only too clear why the gung-ho commander of the LEP would be infatuated with this female, out of all those in Haven.

"Anyway, he knows better," Holly said quietly, her eyes glancing through the city street to something only she could see.

"Yes, he does," Foaly agreed. "But still…"

"Foaly, you know I'm never going to date him again, so why do you even try?"

"Well…" Foaly glanced away, and blurted out extremely quickly, "I just want you to be happy."

"That's nice," Holly admitted. "But I'm fine, Foaly."

It had been two years since the last Artemis Fowl incident and though the tabloid covers still sometimes depicted further scandals, what was over was over. There would never be another Artemis Fowl, not for Holly Short anyway, and that was fine. After all, she had never been the sort of girl to crumble over a male and she wasn't about to start, especially not now when the dust finally settling.

Naturally, it'd been one of the more startling instances of her life to realize that somehow, she could abandon the amazing, reliable guy who'd always been there for her and was perfect for her in every way— similar enough to have inspired a lifelong friendship, but steadfast where she was flighty, realistic where she was idealistic— for the very mud boy who'd kidnapped her all those years ago and took her along on the adventures of a lifetime. He was nothing like her, and everything she detested from his unbearable smugness to his ability to be a walking encyclopedia; they never failed to bicker about the silliest things whenever they were within shouting distance. Yet in spite of all that, or perhaps because of it, it was he that dogged her mind in the wee hours of the morning, he that made childish squabbling seem incredibly fun, and he that she would risk her life for— on an almost regular basis, in fact.

But there was no breaking ancient boundaries that had been firmly in place for millennia, even for one who had broke through so many stereotypes. Some rules were too strong for bending, their rigid, stone structure unyielding to every weapon she dared throw; yes, one day, water may yet wear away at the stone, but that day was not today.

"I know you miss him," he pressed.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "Really, Foaly."

"Well…" the centaur hesitated, hoping to turn the subject. "Have you gotten a dress for the reception yet?"

"Wait a sec, I'm actually expected to wear a dress?" Holly asked, feigning outrage. "Come on, you ought to treat your only friend better than that."

"It won't kill you to look feminine for one night," Foaly wheedled, attempting pull his thoroughly un-cute features into a pleading expression, "Please…for me?"

Holly giggled. "Fine, fine, but only because you look absolutely ridiculous trying to pull that face."

"Oh, and while you're in a good mood, I'm also expecting you to come with a date." Foaly spit all this out at record speed.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, I bet a dozen hot Recon guys are just lining up to go out with you," Foaly said. "Surely at least a few of them are tolerable. And there's always Trouble…"

It was thoroughly fortunate for Foaly that though he, unlike the irate elf before him, did not possess lightning fast reflexes, he was endowed with a superb intellect that allowed him to find an acceptable solution in the space of about two seconds. "Actually, on second thought, I know the perfect person to set you up with," he added.

"I am so not going for one of your insane blind dates, Foaly. Knowing you, it can't be good."

"You'll like this one, I promise."

"It's Trouble, isn't it?"

"Nope."

"Oh gods, not Chix?"

"No."

"_Grub_?"

"Nah," Foaly shook his head. "You'll just have to wait until Saturday to find out."

"Fine, fine," Holly shrugged. "But only because it is your wedding day, after all. And I'll even be so generous as to give you your wedding night since I know how deprived you are. But if this goes south, you are going to be _so _dead by Sunday morning."

"Mmmhmm," Foaly muttered. After so many, even death threats went right by him.

As the pair parted, each going their separate ways, both were too preoccupied in their own ponderings to notice a dark-suited figure hiding slyly just around the corner. In her defense, Holly had the sense to be wary, her intuition buzzing at the base of her neck; danger was here, just out of sight.

But Foaly was in midst of concocting yet another one of his schemes…and it seemed that he had just found the perfect test subject for his new invention.

* * *

Newly twenty-four-year-old Artemis Fowl had never been normal. But even by Fowl standards, his behavior as of late was certainly not ordinary. Not that he was actually contributing his substantial personal fortune to Amnesty International, of course, for that may have prompted many, including his own parents, to flee for the hills in fear of an apocalypse. But this sight was simply…_atypical_.

Artemis Fowl II was lounging on the soft white sand of Barbados. His inordinately pale skin was cast in an unflattering light from the blasted sun, although little enough of it was visible from beneath his full suit attire, topped with a silk Armani tie. To top off the peculiar sight, he was staring determinedly at the screen of his Mac notebook, his eyesight shielded by a particularly colorful beach umbrella.

There was little surprise that passerby were staring.

"Arty! _Arty_!" Two small, but persistent voices called. The eldest Fowl heir grimaced, but lifted his vision from the stock portfolio all the same. He'd learned his lesson long ago about daring to ignore his younger brothers— they may not be genii but their limited intellect certainly didn't inhibit their ability to perform a few particularly cruel pranks that shall not be named.

"Yes, Myles, Beckett," he replied with as much patience as he could muster under the circumstances. Sun and Artemis Fowl did not mix.

"Daddy says he wants you to come and spend some time with us," Myles said, holding his sand-coated hands behind his back and giving his best puppy-dog look.

"Yeah, he's says that you're spending too much time working," Beckett added.

Artemis glared at the scene before him. His parents were engaged in the most immature activity of standing half-naked, waist-deep in the salty sea and throwing handfuls of water upon each other. For the life of him, he could not understand why any reasonable human being would consider that to be _fun_. Generally, when half of a body is fast losing its epidermis from the damaging effects of the sun and the other half is becoming thoroughly creased from salt and sea, it is not considered to be _fun_.

"I think I shall pass," he answered. "But do tell me when Mother and Father have matured significantly and we can leave this accursed beach."

The two younger boys scampered back into the water, splashing their parents in their wake. The elder Fowl sighed, and counted his blessings that those tykes had at least left without too much fuss. On a day so searing and with his beloved Mac having just barely escaped death by sand, he was certainly not in the mood to wheedle with them. Instead, he concentrated on his stock portfolio, hoping to drag his thoughts away from his less-than-ideal surroundings.

Ah, here was his latest investment: Rasmussen Energy. By name, they were a traditional American Big Oil company, with all the power and prestige, as well as hate, that such a title merited, but after a brief scan of their latest transactions, Artemis determined that they had quite a high stake in alternative energy. And after all, alternative energy was quite the _thing _these days, wasn't it?

Had humans had the sense to invest in biofuels, solar, and the like just a decade earlier, it would've certainly reaped quite the reward. But alas, no, the heat of the globe had now risen a full degree Celsius higher than that of a century earlier and though that may not seem like much upon first sight, it was certainly enough to do some substantial damage, especially along the deserts, rainforests, and coasts. And of course, on this blistering mid-September day, Artemis was certainly feeling it.

Nevertheless, it was a risk, though, taking on such a large role in developing such an innovation as alternative energy. It wasn't easy to wean the world off oil, especially not such a wasteful country such as the US, and the road of the energy industry was littered with the ruins of those who'd tried and failed. But yet, Artemis had to admit, their future seemed promising. Perhaps it was worth putting an extra million into?

And then there was their core-mining plan. Artemis scoffed at it, remembering the ill-fated journey of the Zito probe. When would humans learn their lesson about meddling where they don't belong? That plan would likely be scraped soon enough, as soon as Foaly had a chance to tweak their trajectory and wreak quite a bit of havoc.

But nevertheless, a million was only a million after all and Artemis believed that he certainly had much more of a chance to earn than to lose. A quick click and the extra funds were in, hopefully adding further padding to his already substantial affluence, amassed mainly through illegal, though harmless, means.

But before he had a chance to ponder his latest money-making schemes yet again, a rather unpleasant occurrence surprised the young billionaire. All at once, a wave of cold water flooded over his flawless attire and laptop, provoking a startled yelp from the normally-impassive man. Upon whirling around, Artemis found his two young brothers giggling from behind the umbrella, a newly-emptied bucket in their hands.

Before he could utter a word of protest, the boys were gone, their little feet scuttling expertly along the beach quay. Cursing his fate, Artemis crawled up from the now muddied sand, wondering why on earth his parents had felt the urge to reproduce once more so late in their lives and leave him to deal with such agony. And yet another interruption plagued him; his ring was vibrating.

Of course, the ring was not actually the gaudy jewel it appeared to be, but actually a disguised communicator with the fairy People. Glad for a reason to retreat from the sun, Artemis stroke briskly into a small nearby shack and activated the phone, anticipating Holly's voice in his ear.

But it wasn't Holly.

"_Foaly_?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** You know, I had no idea what to do with Myles and Beckett in Collision, though I had reviewers who wanted me to include them. But they are really good at bothering Artemis, aren't they? Gotta love that.

Anyway, I hope you all liked and please drop off a review at the door. To steal a wonderful idea from Julienne Potato, reviewers get their own Myles and Beckett (they come in a set with their handy carrying case!) to annoy Arty with!

Lily


	2. A Wedding to Remember

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, and will never be.

**Author's Note:** So this is an edit of Chapter 2, the final version I had on my new computer-- remember how I told you it crashed. Yeah, also, my brain kind of crashed too, with a ton of SAT prep and an inordinate amount of schoolwork for summer vacation.

So I have this finally up and Chapter 3 will come...as quickly as you readers would like (say, Sunday night?) since it's basically edited...I think.

Anyway, if you've already read it, I've added a bit and took out a bit so you can skim if you like.

* * *

**Chapter 2: A Wedding to Remember**

Where the turquoise waters of the Caribbean mingled with white sands was naturally the perfect tourist destination for those few who could afford a costly spot directly in its path. After all, even with the myriad of islands, there were precious few miles of coastline to be dominated by high-priced resorts for the wealthy of the world. No wonder why few were pleased when the Fowls rather rudely snatched up nearly half a dozen suites, sparing the resort's proprietor, of course. If money talked, then the Fowls certainly possessed the gift of gab.

From the comfort of one of these suites, Juliet Butler vigilantly watched her young charges, playing just feet away in the powder-pale sands.

"I wonder," she muttered to her brother who, sitting nearby, tapped ceaselessly on a Mac notebook, "if anyone has ever heard of a bodyguard/romance-novel-writer. Quite an interesting choice of profession, isn't it?"

Not many would dare to toy with Butler, but naturally, his playful younger sister was an exception. The seven-feet-tall Eurasian with biceps to rival that of "Govern-ator" Arnold Schwarzenegger barely raised his eyes from the document that was fast expanding under his tutelage.

"If anything, I don't think I had much choice in my first profession, though I certainly don't regret it," Butler replied. "You, on the other hand…"

"Dom, give it up, okay?" Juliet shrugged, twirling a strand of blond hair and causing a band of college-age males to wolf-whistle her way, only to be silenced by the very sight of her brother. "I've made my decision. Wrestling was fun, but it was time for me to come home and do what I'm supposed to."

"Because that is definitely in your nature," Butler rolled his eyes.

"I'm not a kid anymore," Juliet protested. "You do realize that, don't you?"

"Of course," he replied. "Even if I have a difficult time believing it, especially given the way you act."

"Oh, really? When was the last time I did anything immature?"

"How about the time last week when you bribed Myles and Beckett to sneak an MP3 of the Sesame Street theme song into Artemis's hard drive so that it played when he tried to show his father his latest stock portfolio?"

"That was funny, you have to admit," Juliet giggled, recalling her lastest prank. "The look on his face was absolutely priceless. Something like that time I stuffed a cherry lollipop up his throat when he was four."

"And up both his nostrils," Butler added, wincing at the memory. "No wonder why he hates them."

"Speaking of Artemis, he's taking this 'vacation' idea of his mothers' unnaturally quietly, don't you think?"

"Probably planning his latest criminal venture," Butler remarked, perfectly unconcerned by the idea.

"Well, he keeps threatening to go legal— you don't suppose he's finally done it?"

Butler finally glanced up from his manuscript to meet Juliet's eyes. They considered each other pensively for a moment and simultaneously replied, "Nah."

"But you are right about that," Butler remarked. "It's been unnaturally quiet lately. Not even the slightest hint of an assassination attempt all week."

"Must be a record," Juliet snorted. She had spoken too early, however as the subject in question took that particular moment to burst into the suite, dripping wet with salt and sand plastering his once flawless attire. Complete with a laptop in hand, he could not have looked more ridiculous if he was tarred and feathered.

Needless to say, Artemis Fowl II was not pleased.

"Juliet— stock…sand…Armani," he stuttered, a rare speechless moment for one with an IQ of 190.

"Twins?" she interjected helpfully, the barest hint of a smile cavorting about her lips.

"Yes, that too," Artemis said, unceremoniously flinging his waterlogged notebook onto the nearest tabletop. "Speaking of, we'll soon be rid of them."

"Well, Arty, I know they aren't exactly your favorite people in the world right now, but isn't hiring a hitman to 'take care' of them overdoing it just a little?"

"Very amusing," Artemis replied, not appearing the least bit amused. "No, the twins aren't going anywhere. We are."

"Artemis, didn't your mother order you on this vacation under the pain of giving Myles and Beckett free range on your room?" Butler pointed out.

"Business calls," Artemis answered, tapping the rather gaudy ring on his hand. "Juliet, pack our bags. We're going to Haven."

* * *

It wasn't a scene that many lived to see: Major Holly Short of LEP Recon attired in an elegant dark knee-length dress, trimmed with pastel blues and greens and beaded in a graceful pattern along the bodice. Her hair was loose and set in perfect curls, adorned with only a small sapphire-studded brooch. In fact, her countenance was even embellished with a light smattering of foundation and the slightest touch of eyeshadow and lipstick. If the inexorably tomboyish LEP officer had been pretty previously, she was downright stunning now. It was, quite frankly a miracle that few could ever dare to achieve.

There was only one tiny problem: she was barefoot.

"I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, Mari, I refuse to wear heels," Holly retorted to her younger, and surprisingly, equally persistent, sister and the single reason she wasn't dressed in jeans by now. "I can't walk in them and what if something happens? I'll be a complete lame duck."

"So what, you're just going to walk into _the_ Gaian Hall barefooted?" Mariana countered, straightening her own dress— a rather conspicuous violet contraption.

"No," Holly replied, smiling with that familiar devious spark in her eyes. "I'm going to wear my boots."

"You're joking."

"I'm dead serious."

"Oh, you're dead alright. Just wait until Caballine sees _that_ at her picture perfect wedding."

_"That"_ was a pair of ancient black combat boots, undeniably scraggly with ragged laces and scuff marks disfiguring the once flawless expanse of dark leather. They lay higgledy-piggledy on the doormat, looming almost ominously.

"Well, she won't see, now will she?"

"Yeah, because she totally won't notice when she walks down the aisle and sees her d'arviting excuse for a friend in _combat boots_!"

Scowling, Holly defiantly donned the boots, and began towards the door, her hand wandering to the back of her head, clearly seeking to worm out the brooch, a lingering symbol of femininity to be annihilated once and for all. But an equally importunate voice interrupted:

"Don't you dare touch that."

"But—"

"Touch it and I'll tell Trouble about your last midnight rendezvous with dear _Arty_," the younger girl threatened mercilessly.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Holly knew better than to take her up on the offer; they did share the _some_ of the same genes after all.

"It wouldn't kill you to be a teensy bit feminine for one day in your life, Holly," Mariana rolled her eyes, ruthlessly pinning the curls into submission. "Besides, don't you want to impress this mystery guy that Foaly's setting you up with?"

"Mariana, he's not setting me up with anyone," Holly snapped, making her way to the car. "I've agreed to meet him, that's all. I'm not the type to agree to date a guy I don't even know. One dance, maybe, and then I'm through."

"And then?" Mariana asked, following.

"And then what?"

"Then who are you going to dance with? This is a wedding, Holly. You're expected to have a date," Mariana acted as if she was explaining the most basic rules of mathematics to a small child.

"Please, no one is taking it that seriously. Trouble doesn't have a date either."

"So that's your plan to get back together with him again, is it?" Mariana raised one eyebrow.

"Look, we're friends and we're going to stay that way this time," Holly said, and it was true. She was done with this cycle with Trouble, always getting together, breaking up, and finally settling for friendship. It was simply too much heartache. "I'm not messing that up this time."

"Like you say every time. Excusez-moi if I don't want to believe you," Mariana said, with the barest hint of bitterness in her voice.

"Listen," Holly caught her sister's shoulder. "I know you like Trouble and to tell you the truth, I do, too. I'll probably always like him, but I can't go through this again, knowing exactly how it'll turn out. He'll always want to get married and have a perfect family, and I can't do that, not now, not ever."

"Because, you love Artemis, don't you?" Mariana whispered in hushed tones, despite the fact that most of Haven was still asleep on this muted Saturday morning. "Don't you?"

"Yeah," answered Holly, her voice equally soft. "I do."

* * *

The car pulled up to an ornately-decorated reception hall, replete with Corinthian pillars and throngs of wedding-goers congregated on the marble steps. Absolutely swarming with elegant guests in their swirling skirts and dark tuxedos among the imported lilacs, it was the very picture of class. Hardly a place one of the most gung-ho officers of the LEP was likely to be spotted.

"Wow, Caballine really pulled off a miracle, didn't she?" Mariana commented, if only to break the silence.

"I'll say that when I see Foaly in a tux," Holly muttered, plucking at the taut waist of her dress. "He had better be as uncomfortable as I am in _this_."

"Think of the Recon jocks all dressed up," Mariana giggled. "Now that'll be a laugh."

The next laugh of the day, however, belonged to Wing Commander and Councilwoman Vinyaya who'd hurried out of the reception hall to be greeted with the extraordinary image of Holly Short in…a dress.

"Well, well, Major," she remarked. "I suppose I should commend your sister for the job well done? Although," she added, catching sight of the rather ghastly combat boots, "not every battle _can_ be won."

On the other hand, the Councilwoman herself appeared surprisingly at ease in a flowing cream halter that complemented her silver locks stunningly. For a woman of politics who literally lived in pantsuits, it was an impressive transformation.

"Anyway," she continued with a wry smile. "You better get inside. Caballine's asking for you and you're late. As always."

"Yes, ma'am," Holly pulled herself from the bucket seats and trudged up the steps, forming a rather conspicuous, red-haired eyesore in midst of the refined surroundings. There was a reason she detested dresses, after all.

Still stinging from the injustice, she unceremoniously flung open the doors and gained entrance to a small dressing room off the vestibule.

"Caballine?" she called into the expanse within.

"Oh Frond, Holly, I'm so glad you're here," a bubbly centaur flung herself on to the elf in question. The two had long since forged a rather peculiar alliance on the promise that Holly's visage would no longer adorn the evening news on PPTV for no apparent reason; after all, it was certainly helpful to have an inside source who could easily alter the cue cards and vid clips just before airtime.

However, even Caballine cringed when she noticed her friend's the less-than-pristine footwear. "Goodness sakes, Holly, do you even _own_ any heels?"

"Well, I doubt even you would wear the shoes my sister tried to push on me. They're neon green, for a start," Holly rolled her eyes.

"Here," Caballine handed her a pair of black stilettos. "Size six, right?"

"Uh-huh…," Holly dangled one shoe by the fine leather strap as if she'd never seen such a contraption before. But of course, she had.

_For as long as she could remember, she detested her mother's taste in habiliments. Pastel frocks and silky hair ribbons galore— a physical embodiment of all the feminineness she shunned. The worst of all were the shoes— the patent leather too stiff to run with; they imprisoned her better than a cage of metal could ever have. But she would've willingly donned every lacy frock and stiffly loafers her mother could throw at her, if only she had gotten her way on one August day of '45._

_She'd awoken to find the clothes neatly folded on her bed: dark skirt, gunpowder grey blouse and a black corduroy blazer lined with blood red silk. It was appalling._

_She had thrown herself at Camellia, screaming that her mother was a terrible person who didn't even care a whit about her own husband. How strange that she had not cried, not one tear. She had even faced the tabloid headlines with stoicism when her mother failed to, but the mere sight of that blood red lining chilled her to the bones._

_Perhaps she would've climbed into bed and refused to leave for the ceremony, had it not been for her sister. Those stormy grey eyes were lucid for once and they stared at her with all the innocence she had lost. The babyish hand clutched at her older sister's and she realized that she was in her mother's shoes. _

_And by some miracle, those clunky black contraptions fit._

"Oh, don't worry," her companion laughed, bringing her back to reality. "It's not nearly as bad as most— totally not torture."

Holly shrugged and donned the shoes, hiding her disconcertion. She'd known Caballine long enough to know that there was no protesting with her and the extra two inches they provided was no small reward. And it _was_ her wedding day, after all, and for her own personal safety, it might be a smart idea to cooperate complacently. The centaur may have been as harmless as the average bunny rabbit but she was in control of possibly the most dangerous invention known to man or fairy— the news networks and more importantly, their seemingly unlimited supply of vid clips of a certain female Recon officer engaging in inappropriate acts. Besides, the heels were so sharp, she could always use them as a weapon to threaten Foaly with if her "date" was…_unsatisfactory_. Although the untimely death of the groom might put a slight damper on the festivities.

"So, is there anything I can help with?" For some reason she could not fathom, even the notoriously stubborn Major Holly Short could be reduced to a compliant collaborator under Caballine's influence. No wonder why she had Foaly wrapped around her little finger.

"Actually, no," the centaur pinned a final curl into her astoundingly complicated plait, adorned with genuine blossoms. "I'm supposed to be distracting you as Foaly isn't quite done with your date yet."

Holly snorted. "Why, what's he doing— building some robot? Automated date-tron 3000?"

"Not quite," Caballine smirked wryly, somehow managing to seem mischievous despite attire akin to an angel's. The bride was resplendent in the traditional white, flowing gown, embroidered lightly and swirling about her feet like pastel paints poured into the ocean.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Oh, you will," the female centaur giggled. "Just wait till you see."

Naturally, that had Holly scrambling for the door, wavering on her stilettos like a sailboat in a tempest. As she approached the wide arches of the hall's entrance, she noticed Foaly in midst of the mills of people, talking to a dark-haired fairy, inconspicuous in the typical dark-suit-white-tie apparel of a fall wedding. Intrigued, Holly ambled down the aisle, taking care to avoid slipping on the sleek marble tiles while simultaneously maintaining a normal gait. It was not a task easily accomplished, and she almost made it, too.

However, the surprise alone was certainly enough to knock her off her feet when Foaly's companion turned around, revealing his visage. From a rather undignified position on the floor, Holly glanced up to see a _very_ familiar pair of mismatched eyes.

**Author's Note (PLEASE READ): **So I made a bunch of excuses about my schoolwork, etc, etc, but another major reason that I haven't updated is that I'm not getting very good reception for this fic. I started Collision as a new author on this site and it garnered so much more popularity than this. And I am so busy since I'm a junior aiming for the Ivy League and if not many people are reading or actually care about this fic, why should I continue?

I'm discussed this with my beta and some of my friends online, but I guess who I really have to ask is my readers. I just want to see how many people would really care if I didn't continue this fic. So please tell me how you feel and why in your review or if you already reviewed, feel free to PM me.

Thanks.

Lily


	3. Life and Death

**Disclaimer: **If I owned AF, why would I be stressing over college admin? Hmm?

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all your support, guys. I'm still crazy busy but I'm going to give it a genuine attempt to finish this fanfic. I basically realized that though I'm at a personal low as far as reviews go (even a silly little oneshot like Conversation with Death somehow managed almost 20), that was never my goal in fanfiction. When I started fanfiction, I really couldn't care less if anyone read my writing (I've always been really insecure about my works anyway)-- I just wanted to become a better writer. And writing is something I've rarely had time to do but fanfics pressured me to keep writing, even when everything was going wrong.

Also, I'm getting really excited about this AF novella I'm working on (slash!). It's almost half done...okay, maybe not quite, but still. I absolutely love the idea and hopefully it'll make its debut sometime in the fall.

So here goes:

* * *

**Chapter 3: Life and Death**

Strangely enough, the tune of a wedding march is stunningly similar to that of a funeral dirge, though the two occasions sit upon opposite ends of the spectrum. But yet it is strikingly appropriate that while a wedding burst into life far underground, mourners paid their last respects to the dead in the land of mud.

But in this case, not many could possibly have good words to say about the deceased in question: a man by the name of Frederik Rasmussen, and even his son knew it. In fact, Robert Rasmussen had sat himself in the back of the congregation, hoping not to attract too much attention and secretly imagining that the supposed mourners were simply saying "good riddance" and hoping for a slice of his father's fortune in his will. After all, what was there to miss about an old fat cat of the oil industry who'd spend his life polluting the now-teetering earth and descended into lunacy himself by the end of it?

Yes, it was a rather sad way to pass on, the younger Rasmussen reflected dispassionately. But he could not quite paint himself sad though the local television cameras might expect, for his father's death at nearly eighty years of age had only been expected, after descending into total madness, courtesy of Alzheimer's. Pity that the ailing businessman himself had once been part of the conservatives decrying the stem cell technology that could've saved his life.

He had now passed on to a better place, Rasmussen told himself. That is, if blaming gays for all the faults of society counted as doing God's work.

Nevertheless, for all his father's own personal failings, Robert's eyes were already set to continue his father's work— not this blasted oil business which was headed straight to hell, of course, but something else, something far more peculiar.

In the last years of his life, as he descended towards madness, Frederik had revealed to his only son something he'd never dare speak of. Of the reason that his eyes lit up in anticipation each time another drill was started, why he had devoted his life to depleting the earth, despite what the environmentalists might say:

Decades ago, when he was a young boy, his family, had lived in central London, seeking respite from the world war that gripped most of Europe. But yet, it seemed the bombs followed him even across the channel and it wasn't long before he too became a casualty of the blitz, the German bombing on English soil in the summer of 1940, another statistic had fate not taken control of his destiny then. As he lay there on hard pavement, seeping blood, a young girl seemed to appear from thin air. Robert recalled how his father voice had broke, hoarse from the memory, as he described her: not even quite two feet tall, with the long auburn curls, and the largest hazel eyes glittering with…could it be, tears? Stranger yet, he'd barely registered her pointed ears, half hidden beneath her locks, and the mechanical wings she sported. There was something inescapably magical about her, especially as she lowered her hands to his wound; with a jet of blue sparks, miraculously, the festering, blood-soaked skin wove and healed itself right before his eyes.

For years afterwards, he could not fathom the meaning of what he had witnessed that fateful day. His mother, a devout Catholic, had merely attributed the incident to a miracle and thanked the holy virgin. But Frederik knew that it was much more.

He'd believed the girl to be a fairy.

They must be hidden around us, Robert, his father had said, grasping his son's hand as if it were his only lifeline in tumultuous waters. There was one who saved my life; there must be more. And they can fly, but they haven't real wings— merely metal contraptions. And if they are hidden, Robert, _where do you suppose they are? Where is a place yet untapped by humans?_

Underground. Deep underground; that was the answer and the reason for his father's unrelenting fascination with drilling. The money did not interest him and no amount celebrity was payment enough for his efforts. No, what Frederik Rasmussen had wasted away his whole life for was to capture the power that these unfathomable creatures surely had at their disposal and that had saved his life as a boy. Magic! It was the stuff of daydreams, surely unthinkable in the _real_ world. But yet…_what if_?

And his unquenchable curiosity had been passed onto his son. Even as his father slipped towards the precipice of death, Robert had not halted in his duties, taking many steps closer towards the culmination of his life's goal. And he had gone further than his father had ever dared and found a way to get the truth from the devil himself. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

But just days before his father had finally slipped away from this world, Robert Rasmussen had discovered another. He had made contact with the fairies.

* * *

Shrieking in the rather annoying manner of adolescent females was not generally characteristic of Holly Short. In fact, she especially detested those stereotypical examples of her gender, namely Lili Frond. But at that particular moment, a shriek of surprise would not have been entirely out of place.

"_Artemis_?" Had she not already been on the ground, she was certain that her jaw would've made the drop. (Admittedly, said drop was a mere three feet…) But there was no mistaking it; the pallid hand that reached out to help her up even flaunted the ring/communicator that she had given him years ago.

If the mere sight of Artemis Fowl underground, in midst of hundreds of fairies, civilians and even Council members among them, not been enough to be strange, the next fact that struck Holly was even more peculiar: he was not human.

No, far from it: the Artemis Fowl that stood before her was barely more than three feet, had pointed ears, and even sported lighter hair than his characteristic raven black locks. He did, however, retain pale complexion and mismatched eyes, one intensely azure and the other a honey-hued hazel flecked with jade. And of course, no one on earth or beneath it could possibly hope to forge his frighteningly vampire-ish smirk.

"Pretty convincing, huh?" Foaly interjected. "I've been waiting for a chance to test out my genetic mutation device. It's still pretty experimental but it's a lot easier than you would think since apparently, I only had to block less than 0.5 percent of his total genes to give him a fairy appearance. The miracles of convergent evolution, eh? And I just dyed the hair so no one would figure out that it was actually _him_— imagine the outcry that would cause in public. However, there was a slight difficulty in the repeating CGAT sequence in chromosome 5…"

But neither of his friends was listening. Their whispers formed the milieu of the centaur's ostentatious lecture.

"I can't believe you're actually here."

"Trust me, if it means escaping the prison of sand and sea known as the Caribbean, I'd willingly dye my hair any shade of the rainbow."

"How about blue?"

He winced at the very idea. "Am I going to be forced to keep that promise?"

"It'd be nice if you keep at least one sometime."

"I already did."

"Oh, really?"

"I promised we'd see each other again, and viola. If I continue on this road, I might just qualify for sainthood yet."

A slight chuckle. "Not quite, but I suppose you'd be far too boring that way. I never did like the saints."

The dialogue was quite muted after that point for both the interlocutors' lips became occupied with other dealings.

"Oh, come on, guys," Foaly protested. "If I knew you would just spend all day making out, I wouldn't have done this incredibly selfless and compassionate…er, _experiment_. I was actually looking forward to some stimulating conversation, for a change. Break it up, people, nothing to see here….Hey, it is _my_ wedding day!"

"Of course, of course," Artemis managed to pull himself away, though his eyes never left Holly's. Ah well, Foaly would have to settle for a compromise. "Yes, genetic mutations…isn't that a tad dangerous? After all, to pinpoint the exact genes…"

"I know, that part was incredibly difficult," Foaly took over the explanation, glad to traverse another list of his achievements. "Luckily, this human, Craig Venter did most of the work for me, and combined with the documents of fairy microbiologists, I've got nearly every bit."

"So…is Juliet here as well?" Holly interjected, completely disinterested in the technicalities of microbiology.

"Yes," Foaly answered before continuing his sermon. "It's quite a remarkable job, actually and absolutely revolutionary— the first of its kind. And since I only blocked the genes instead of permanently altering them, the effects will wear off within twenty-four hours. Of course, there's a _slight_ chance of affecting…er, other traits, but…"

"Allow me a wild guess— I may have lost several IQ points?"

"Yeah, basically," Foaly admitted. "But there's only a five percent chance!"

"But there's a five hundred percent chance that you'll get your butt kicked tomorrow morning if you don't scat," Holly threatened cheerfully.

"I'll take those odds," Artemis muttered and thus began yet another extended kiss.

"Oh, for Frond's sake," Foaly muttered and had the sense to back off, albeit with grumblings about the "ingratitude of the young 'uns nowadays". After all, he valued his life; who would be the constant savior of his entire race if he were to miraculously disappear, courtesy of one _very_ temperamental elf?

* * *

Scrapes was quite aptly named, perhaps because he had chosen the street name himself. After all, a choir boy name like _Sage_ of all things hardly inspired fear in the hearts of one's enemies and as soon as he decided that there were far better prospects for the average ruffian on the dark side of the law, it was time for a name change. And of course, there was also the matter that he was being searched by the LEP at the time and handing out his identity would've been tantamount to turning himself in.

And scrapes was exactly what he loved to get himself into. It was consequently what his visage was constantly plastered in; so much, in fact, that blue sparks constantly swarmed about his features, causing some of the others to suggest that that perhaps he ought to have called himself Blue-Face. The average thug was not very imaginative.

"Hey, boss-man!" one of his countless lackeys called out from his post in the alley. "City's gone under lockdown."

No, duh, thought Scrapes. As if anyone could possibly fail to notice when the city was entirely closed off to outsiders and absolutely all emissions were eliminated. But being a ringleader wasn't all fun and games; it also required dealing with idiotic excuses for allies. At least they were too stupid to question orders.

"Get me a line to the surface!" Scrapes shouted from his rented place in the slums of Haven, and with his usual affectionate tone. "Pronto, or there'll be hell to pay!"

But today even Scrapes might hesitate at getting into a fight and jeopardizing the extremely profitable deal he'd set up for himself. Imagine, it'd only been mere days ago that he and his gang had ridden an illegal chute up to the surface, to an antiquated fairy fort just below the surface of Texas, too insignificant even for stakeout. They'd gotten some drinks and drugs to boot, all while staring at the full moon— a heaven for an inner city ruffian, but they were interrupted by a human, of all things. But he'd come with a deal in hand, and plenty of gold to trade and that was Scrapes's language, after all. Thusly, he'd come away with quite a stash of bullion and a promise of further contact (and gold), via a pair of secure communicators, courtesy of the oblivious LEP.

As stupid as humans generally were, the mud man had no idea that Scrapes had his own agenda at stake. Yes, he'd help the man infiltrate Haven, telling him everything he knew about the city in the center of the earth and the technology and security it possessed— a goldmine of knowledge, no pun intended. But Scrapes knew a thing or two about the LEP, being an ex-cop himself and he had decided that if he and his gang were going to corner Haven's underground (the underworld of an underworld— how ironic), then a certain pair of allies would have annihilated.

And what better time was there than when his favorite mud man permeated Haven itself?

* * *

As ordained by the Book, fairy marriage ceremonies were not speedy affairs. If one wished to be hitched within the hour (and face eternal damnation if the televangelists were to be believed) then one eloped to Atlantis and hit the casinos afterwards. But if one was looking for a traditional service, then one had better be prepared to stand for several hours while the several unbearably elongated and monotonous passages were read from the Book. The price of true love, apparently.

Indeed, it was no surprise that by the second hour, most of the audience members had nodded off and not without a few strident snores, either.

"As the twisted water runs and the ancient oaks grow, the moon shall wane…"

It was a sign of the tediousness of the ceremony that the only soul actually fully alert at the moment was Artemis Fowl, a human, if disguised as a fairy for the time being. He had long since known large sections of the Book by heart, but it was quite interesting to hear a more modern interpretation. But even he was distracted by the gentle plunk of a very pretty head upon his shoulder.

Artemis once again noted how peculiar it was to see Holly in a dress for the first time (and the last, as she'd wryly said), but stranger yet, she was positively ravishing in it, despite her complete lack of femininity— or ability to walk in heels, for that matter. At that particular moment, her curls had tumbled haphazardly out of their ordained place at the nape of her neck and her dormant head fell inadvertently onto his chest. He could smell the distinct aroma of her moisturizer, creamy on her supple skin, and wild-flower-scented shampoo, its scent coating every curl. Briefly, Artemis wondered if he could be considered a pervert for positively enjoying the experience.

"And thus, two souls are united, to form a bond that shall never be broken…"

Trouble leaned back, digging his lanky figure as deep within the cushions as possible, hoping Holly wouldn't notice him gawking at her date. Who was it? For the life of him, he couldn't quite place him…he had sandy hair a bit like her boyfriend in college, the one he'd beat up when he'd got her drunk as some frat party. But his eyes were the strangest blue hue. He had only noticed from a distance but even he could tell that the slim, sharp-featured face was distinctly familiar…

"Through life and death, joy and despair, never shall they be parted…"

Struggling not to let the waves of drowsiness capture her, Vinyaya glanced about the audience, her gaze pausing on each member. There was Commander Kelp, acting as if his tie was choking him, and his friends around him, Vein, Newt, and Grub, whining as always. Near the front was Lope and Cahertez, though she knew full well that he was only there for appearances and would be out of here and straight to the crunchball game this afternoon just as soon as the ceremony was over. And there was Holly sitting in the front row, adjacent to her sister, a tall blonde girl, and some young man with the most striking blue eyes; in fact, her head was lolling quite improperly on his shoulder. It was no small surprise to the Wing Commander that her one and only female Major was dating again, especially as Trouble was still giving the poor guy the evil eye (if looks could kill…). Unless…no, she quickly waved the thought away from her wandering mind: It couldn't possibly be _Artemis Fowl_, of all people? Could it?

Suddenly remembering the budget proposal that Foaly had recently put forward for the experimental manufacture of his new "genetic manipulation thingies", Vinyaya almost laughed aloud. That was one smart pony, sneaking public enemy number one in on his wedding day and simultaneously managing to get his gung-ho friend in a dress, and stilettos to boot. She certainly wouldn't report them but Holly had better behave herself or there'd be hell to pay if the Council had anything to say about it.

"…in sickness and in health, in sadness and in bliss, in poverty and in wealth…"

Holly blearily raised her head, running a hand through her unkempt hair. Strangely enough, as she listened to the final verse of the ceremony, she almost wished that it could last just a little bit longer. She was realistic enough to know that as with everything with Artemis, this wasn't forever, but she would take whatever she could get. For a moment, she was overcome with the irrational desire to touch him, as if he would dissipate into thin air at any instant. The soft, silky suit jacket beneath her fingers felt like cotton candy clouds, moving through the skies at breakneck pace; they would be gone before long, but somehow, they deceive, pretending that they would always lounge lazily in the azure of the skies.

She closed her eyes and imagined the tender breeze upon her face, wishing that all would halt, just for a moment— that the earth would stop its relentless tilting, that the wind would calm to nothing at all— just so this moment would stretch like molasses, into days and months and years.

"And unless anyone objects to why this couple should not be united—"

The heavy double doors of the hall swung open smoothly, revealing a single darkly-attired figure who intoned with a chuckle, "Well, well, I'd hate to be dramatic but I've got to interrupt this lovely little occasion."

Without warning, other masked people were swinging in from the windows, emergency exits, and one even landed from the chandelier above. Screams filled the hall, panic ensuing, far overtaking any sense of rational thought.

Even within the mass terror, Artemis contemplated that this, whatever it was, was a rather excellent plan; even with possibly a hundred LEP members in attendance, none of them would armed in such an occasion and thus completely defenseless, along with all the other unsuspecting wedding guests.

In the split second that it took him to ponder this, unfamiliar hands snatched at his wrists, binding him with such swift agility that he faced a gun pointed directly at his temple before he could utter a word.

"What are you doing?" Holly shrieked, attempting futilely to hurry in her heels. "What do you want?"

"Now, this wouldn't be the charming Ms. Short, now would it?" Artemis's captor inquired as if he were socializing at a soiree. "You're on our hit list, too, if you must know."

Cursing her stilettos, Holly tried to follow but the attacker was already half way down the aisle, dragging Artemis along with him. But naturally, her reputation as an excellent field officer wasn't for nothing and as she slipped off her shoes, she vaguely noticed how sharp the heels were and that they might actually pass as a weapon. But she had no time to refine this plan and merely chucked the shoe some fifty feet at the assassin, hoping that the years of playing crunchball had perfected her throw.

She needn't have worried, for the shoe hit him squarely in the skull, rendering him unconscious and reducing him to a mere heap on the richly carpeted floor. The sight was almost comical— a hitman taken out by the mere power of ladies' apparel.

"Awesome," Juliet commented as she dragged her own unconscious hit man beneath a row of seats. "I knew heels would come in handy someday."

"Got anything else heavy?" Holly asked as the remaining attackers drew far too close for comfort.

"Just this," Juliet said, motioning to the trademark jade ring at the end of her plait. "I guess it'll have to be hand-to-jewelry combat."

Two unarmed females against the remaining dozen professionals trained to kill without question. It was going to be close.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm not really happy with the A/H stuff in this chapter but hopefully my muse will return sometime this week. If everything works out and I don't get wrapped up in sometime else (no promises), there should be another update this friday.

In the meantime, can I get a few reviews? S'il te plait?

Lily


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